


Contemplation

by LumaBoop



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Personality Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumaBoop/pseuds/LumaBoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun and Desmond have a heart to heart after Desmond's latest psychological break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contemplation

  


“Huh, here you are.”

 

“Well, where would I have run off too?”

Desmond snorted as he approached Shaun sitting comfortably on a bench just a few clicks away from the forced entry way into the old Auditore Villa. He joined him, hands stuffed in his hoodie.

“Something could have happened to you.”

“And I’m not a hapless individual. Tch, Lucy needs to worry about other things besides me. I’m fine.”

“… No you’re not.”

“Beg your pardon? I think I’d know if I’m fine or not. No one knows me better than me.”

Desmond smirked, eyes lifted to the stars. “You never leave your safe corner. Anything could happen out here—not like you to stick your neck out into dangerous situations.”

“You calling me a coward?” The redhead’s nose wrinkled, obviously displeased.

“Heh,  _no_. I’m saying you’re cautious. And you’d rather be around your books and stuff then out here doing nothing.”

“… I just needed some air.”

“… things will look up, Shaun.”

“Things aren’t going our way, Desmond. Not as much as the others would like to think.”

Desmond leaned forward, startled—concerned.

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve got a higher up man I get intel from concerning the other Assassins across the world. As great as I am, I can’t be everywhere at once.”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “Okay, and?”

“We lost contact with another team; a very very importantly stationed team.”

“So? That doesn’t mean they’re—”

“Dead? Well,  _damn it_  Desmond, maybe they ALL just turned off their communicators, headed back to the US and went out for Starbucks! Of COURSE they’re dead… it’s always the case.”

“… hey, I’m not trying to belittle the situation. But a lack of communication can’t always mean they’re dead. I mean, didn’t Lucy drop off the radar from you and Becca for seven years?”

Shaun huffed, looking away. “No, I kept in contact with her constantly through e-mails and encrypted messages, disguised as death threats, radical letters, and company inquiries. Had Lucy stopped replying to those, I would assume her exposed and would have stopped contact.”

“You wouldn’t have sent in backup? That’s messed.”

“It’s the brotherhood.”

“Yeah yeah… don’t compromise the brotherhood… what the fuck ever.”

“Don’t pull an Altair— sometimes the truth is a hard pill to swallow, and right now, I’m having a hard time swallowing.”

“What was so special about that particular post anyway? I mean, what was different about this team than any other team?"

He shifted again, suddenly wishing he had some sort of drink in hand. "This was stationed in Australia-- waaay out there. That base was more or less a fail-safe backup HQ for the Brotherhood. Our  _backup_ HQ has been knocked off the map. That is not a good thing."

"So, no plan C?" Desmond's brows rose in complete bewilderment.

"Not to my knowledge, no. I am sure that the others have something planned for this mess but, for now, we're taking it one step at a time until we can find the Apple. And even then, I have a horrible feeling about the consequences of finding this damned artifact."

"Second thoughts on that? Don't see why." Desmond leaned back, half-heartedly star gazing.

"Desmond, don't tell me you don't feel the hackles on your neck rising at the very thought of touching something so powerful? Anything that powerful, regardless of whose hands they're in, cause nothing but trouble. History has proven that time and time again."

"Well, Ezio didn't seem to have any trouble using it and staying sane."

"He didn't destroy the apple when he had the chance, did he?" Shaun bit his bottom lip, his knee bouncing in agitation.

Desmond reflected on that and frowned. Ezio could have thrown the Apple into the water and had been done with it, but he didn't. It was as if his fingers wouldn't, couldn't, let go of the artifact. It was... disturbing, now that he thought about it.

"That apple does something to the wills of man. Something to their thoughts, their spirits. Fuck, who knows what the Apple truly is capable of besides those pseudo-god-like creatures that spoke to you through Ezio... as if knowing that you were going to an Apple hunt." The red head sighed, hanging his head between his shoulders. "I dunno, Desmond. I just... I don't like how things are falling into place. I'm worried tha--"

"Worried about me? Heh, thanks. Didn't know you cared."

The scowl returned, but the power behind it wavered. "Can you NOT joke for a few seconds of your life? Do you not realize what's going on with you? Have you once stopped to think about the consequences of putting you into a machine that, for the record, wasn't even designed by humans, but came from the Apple? From aliens? Hell, perhaps humans are the aliens, yeah? But, Desmond think about it, you're seeing ghosts and memorizing movements from your ancestors. Don't you find that a bit detrimental to your mental health?"

Shaun's voice was low and tart. His body shook with a frustration so great, the man could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Desmond rested a hand on his comrade's shoulder, only to watch it shrug away.

"Shaun."

"Oh, what, you know my name now. But you'll call me Leonardo or Malik the next breath you take."

"... shit. Didn't think you noticed."

"How can I NOT notice when my mentally unstable boyfriend, that I didn't even PLAN on developing feelings for, starts to call me by the name of other lovers across history? It plants..." the ginger's voice grew softer, his head hanging again. "It plants doubts, Desmond. What if... what if you only came onto me simply because your mental state isn't up to par. What if you only find me attractive because--"

"Shaun, that's stupid. You're over thinking things." Desmond snickered, leaning back on the bench.

Shaun sucked his lips. "Yeah yeah, fucking joke about it. That's what you do best now, isn't it? I'm being serious Desmond. I don't want to have a relationship with someone who... doesn't see me, but someone else. I'm not Leonardo. I'm not Malik. I'm Shaun. But you... you're no longer just Desmond anymore. You're Ezio and you're Altair... and whatever other assassin Lucy wants you to assimilate."

The man stared at the red head, jaw working in his mouth. "... this is what you're really worried about, isn't it?"

"... can you blame me?"

"Yeah, I could." Desmond shifted closer to Shaun and wrapped a whole arm about the man's slumped shoulders. "You know me, though. You know me."

"Yeah, the annoying optimist."

"So when I start to lose hope that things are going to work out for us, that's when you can start bitching about how I've changed, Shaun." He gripped the other's jaw and forced him to look him straight in the eye. Desmond's eyes... his face, his scowl. None of that had chanced.

"When I lose that optimism, give me a good slap because that's when I won't be me anymore. But until then, whenever you think that I'm not myself, just give me one of  _these_ and you'll know I'm still me."

"O-one of what?" Shaun gulped, mouth parted dumbly.

The other's smirk caused his upper lip to pull up, but his cheeks to color. "One of _these_."

The pressure on Shaun's jaw grew and forced their lips together in a kiss unique to only Desmond. Shaun could tell which assassin was kissing him. Altair's was a brutish, desperate kiss that always ended quickly when he kissed back, as if not expecting it. Ezio's was a slow, planned, and experienced kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that was so mind-blowingly thorough, Shaun always felt as if those lips had drank from the mouths of several dozen others.

Desmond's kisses were in between. They started off firm and with a tiny grunt from Desmond. Always a grunt. It then melted into a rutting of tongues and teeth. Desmond always nibbled at his lips and lapped at his teeth. He did not merely drank from Shaun, he devoured him. Neither Ezio nor Altair knew Shaun's mouth like Desmond, and Desmond exploited this knowledge every time.

The ginger tilted his head, his shellshock replaced with reciprocation. He tugged at Desmond's short hair and kissed back, panting between every tongue lashing. He moaned from the distracting bite to his bottom lip, Desmond scooping the withering Englishman within his lap.

A gentle brow raised above fogged glasses, smirking against his companion's moist lips. "Oh, this is cute. This is really clever. What are you gonna do now, hotshot? A bit too nippy out here for a little slap-and-tickle and I've been over due for a good few weeks now. I'll do my far share of vocals--- wouldn't want the Templars hearing that, would we?"

Desmond drummed his fingers on Shaun's hips, blowing air out the side of his lips in a show of false frustration. "Just sucked the fun out of the moment."

"No no... just  _pausing_ the moment, love." Shaun smirked and leaned forward. He took a subtle nip at the man's nose , his eyes locked on the other. Still Desmond. Still his Desmond. "And I got your little message. Loud and clear. So... let's bring us back inside and frisk in the sleeping mats, yeah? Bloody cold tonight; could use the warm up before bed."

The responsive smirk was all Desmond, and Shaun contemplated his doubts no longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted on AO3  
> Written on Oct 26th, 2011


End file.
